From the Garden 

Anne Sexton 

Come, my beloved,

consider the lilies.

We are of little faith.

We talk too much.

Put your mouthful of words away

and come with me to watch

the lilies open in such a field,

growing there like yachts,

slowly steering their petals

without nurses or clocks.

Let us consider the view:

a house where white clouds

decorate the muddy halls.

Oh, put away your good words

and your bad words. Spit out

your words like stones!

Come here! Come here!

Come eat my pleasant fruits.